Undead - One Foot In The Grave Part 9

>G.o.dd.a.m.n it! I should've seen this coming!

>Chris! Listen to me! I'm going to count to three! Do you hear me?

>Dammit! Suki, Lupe; help me hold him!

>Chris! I'm going to count to three and when I say three, you will wake up! You will be awake and calm and none of this will be anything but a dim memory! You will awake and feel nothing but calm and refreshed! Do you understand?

Where's Kirsten? Where is my baby? What did they do to my little girl?

>Chris! I'm counting now! One!

What is that? Get out of my way! I want to see- >Two!

Oh Jesus! What did they dooooo- >THREE-.

I wiped at my eyes. Studied the moisture on my fingertips, the ache down deep inside. "So what happened?" I asked, breaking the strained silence in the examination room. "Did you get anything?"

Dr. Mooncloud shook her head. "I regressed you back to the hospital, a year ago. But it looks like we'll have to go back a little further to get what we need." Her expression was a study in nonchalance.

"Sometimes hypnotism dislodges repressed memories after the session is over. Can you remember anything more, now?"

I tried. And for a moment there was . . . something.

Then it was gone again.

"I remember crossing the Oklahoma/Kansas border. I remember getting off U.S. 69 and going north on State 7. After that-waking up in the hospital."

Lupe Garou, ensconced in a wheelchair, maneuvered closer. "You remember waking up there?"

I shrugged. "I woke up a lot: I was in and out of consciousness for most of a week." I shook my head. "I'm told the first time I regained consciousness was downstairs in the morgue after mistakenly being p.r.o.nounced DOA. Someone said I scared the bejezus out of the pathologist and a custodian."

Garou, Mooncloud, and my tour guide of the previous night looked distinctly uncomfortable so I tried a smile. "Now that's something I wish I could remember. I'll bet there was a whole lot a' shakin' goin' on!"

Lupe turned away. The expressions on Mooncloud and Suki's faces suggested something uncomfortable. "What?" I asked.

"So," Mooncloud said, consulting her notes, "you were headed north on State 7."

I nodded. "I can remember thinking about stopping for lunch, but we had just pa.s.sed Scammon."

"Scammon?"I rubbed my eyes again. "Tiny little town, but they've got this wonderful restaurant called 'Josie's' . . .

but I wasn't sure they were open that early in the day. . . ."

"So then you turned east on 103." She was looking at a map of Kansas recently torn from a road atlas and hastily taped to the wall.

I shrugged. "I must have, given that the accident report puts me at the other end. But I don't remember."

"You pa.s.sed through Weir, Kansas."

"I don't know." An edge had crept into my voice at the mention of Weir. "I must have. But. I. Don't.

Remember."

"The accident occurred at the other end of 103 where you were attempting to rejoin US 69 North."

"Yeah. Yeah. That's what the cops told me." I hopped down from the examination table. "But other than what everyone else has said about where I must have been and what I must have done, I remember nothing! Nada! Zilch! Zero! End of report!" I walked up to Dr. Mooncloud, trying to arrange my face into an intimidating glower. "Are we done here?"

She sighed. "So much for feeling calm and refreshed."

"What?"

She snapped the cover down on her clipboard. "Go. But I want you back here in two hours."

"Fine." I stalked out.

Lupe caught up with me at the elevator. "So, where are you going now?"

"Nowhere. Fast."

"My, what a temper we have today." The sarcasm sounded forced.

"You're one to talk."

She grinned unexpectedly. "Speaking of temper, I hear you pulled the Doman's tail last night."

I looked at her. "He has a tail?"

"Figure of speech, Csejthe." The smile transformed her. While her features would never win beauty contests, there was something appealing in the clean, bold lines and planes of her face. "So what's your problem?"

I glared at her, more in annoyance, now, than genuine anger. "If I have to explain it to you-"

"Yeah, yeah; life's a b.i.t.c.h and then you die," she said. "Only you didn't die. Not permanently, anyways, so you got no kick there. No way you could go on living the way you were, so count yourself lucky we rescued your sorry b.u.t.t from the New York fangs. Now you're here and, as one of the Masters, your life will be gravy. Relax, enjoy; you're at the top of the food chain, now."

"Maybe I don't like having my decisions made for me," I groused. "Maybe I prefer my guest invitations to include voluntary RSVPs. Maybe I want to live my life-or my unlife-free."

The smile turned rueful. "No one really lives free, Csejthe."

"Okay," I said, fighting my own urge to smile, "cheap. I want to live cheap."

"Well, I hope you do not plan any foolishness such as running away. I've retrieved you once. I do not wish to be sent out to hunt your sorry a.s.s again."

"You and me both, b.u.t.tercup."

The elevator arrived and we got on. I gave Hinzelmann my floor and the lift started up. Lupe cleared her throat. "I'm headed back to my room to change. Then, down to the pool. Physical therapy." Her smile was fainter this time. "Want to come down and help me into the water?"

I didn't know what had nudged her into the defrost cycle, but I'd be a fool to pa.s.s up a potential ally.

And any distraction was better than going down to the bar and ogling the dancers again. I nodded: "I'll meet you there in, say, twenty minutes?""It's a date."

Now there was an unnerving turn of phrase, I mused, exiting the elevator. I headed down the corridor and turned toward my quarters. Even more unnerving was the sight of Elizabeth Bachman tapping at my door as I rounded the corner.

"Oh, there you are!"

"Here I am," I agreed as she moved aside so I could open the door.

"May I come in?"

"Well, I'm just ducking in to change and then I have to meet someone."

"I won't get in your way. I promise."

d.a.m.n straight, I thought, holding the door as she entered. "Make yourself comfortable." I closed the outer door and headed for the bedroom.

"Who are you meeting?" she called from the living room as I rummaged through my dresser for a pair of swimming trunks.

"Ms. Garou." The Doman had been generous in providing for my sartorial needs: I was having to practically burrow through drawers filled with clothing.

"Why?"

The question irritated me. Pushy women irritated me. Of course, everything seemed to be irritating me these days. "We're having an affair."

She seemed to take the jibe seriously. "That's not funny."

"Oh? And why not?" I heard a sound behind me and whirled around. There was a cat lying in the middle of my bed, watching me with wide golden eyes.

"It's unnatural. Do you need any help back there?"

"Not yet," I called back. Now what in the h.e.l.l would Bachman consider unnatural? Monogamy? The missionary position? "What's unnatural?" I stared back at the cat.

"She's a wolf." Bachman's voice indicated her logic was inescapable.

Except it escaped me for the moment. "And?" The cat was a sable brown shorthair. Burmese, most likely. Except that it had two tails. Non-standard in the Burmese breed. Or any other, for that matter.

"We are the Masters, darling. We command the other creatures of the night. The bat, the rat, the wolf-they are our servants."

Apparently immortality did not guarantee the long perspective on prejudice. "So, is this bigotry based on cla.s.s distinctions or racial purity?" I walked over to the bed and scratched the cat behind the ears. It purred.

Bachman didn't. "You have much to learn, my dear."

"No doubt we all have." I went to the closet and started through the folded stacks of clothing on the upper shelves.

"I'm sorry, I didn't come here to fight with you," she called in a milder tone of voice.

Yeah? And just what did you come here for? No swimming trunks. I went back to the drawer that held several pairs of shorts to look for a subst.i.tute.

"I just want to help you a.s.similate into our world. And we do need to talk about your occupational situation. . . ."

Ah, yes. How had she put it the night before? My position. . . . I selected a likely looking pair of shorts and dropped my pants.

"Oh," she said. "Let me help you!"

I looked up to see her standing in the bedroom doorway. "If you really want to help," I growled, "you can go find me some swimming trunks.""Swimming-?" This made two times I'd put her off balance in as many minutes.

"I'm going down to the pool and get a little exercise." I stepped into the shorts and tried to pull them up like I wasn't in a frantic hurry.

Her hand came up to her mouth and her eyes narrowed. Then the cat merrowed on the bed behind me and Bachman's eyes s.h.i.+fted, widened, and narrowed again.

"My," she said with a new tone of civility, "what a lovely p.u.s.s.y you have on your bed." She backed through the doorway. "I really must be going. I wouldn't want to make you late for your . . . swim."

And with that, she was gone.

I turned and looked back at the cat. It stretched languidly then lay back down and began licking a forepaw.

Before I left, I rummaged through my newly stocked kitchenette and rewarded it with a saucer of milk.

The pool area was several stories below the street level of Seattle and divided into several pools of varying sizes, including three hot tubs set into the stone floor.

One of the whirlpools was occupied by the drop-dead gorgeous redhead that had sat at the Doman's table with Damien. Strangely, Damien was there with her but, instead of sharing the bubbling hot tub with her, he wore a jogging suit and sat in a deck chair just next to it so they could still be together without actually-well-being together.

I discreetly nodded in their direction. "What's that all about?"

Lupe looked over and smiled a wistful smile. "They're in love." That wasn't what I was asking but she changed the subject as I wheeled her past the deep end of the largest pool. "Tomorrow I'll be out of this thing and walking with a cane."

"Seems a little soon."

She shook her head. "Oh no, not for a lycanthrope. We heal very quickly. And that's certainly handy in both of my professions."

"And what professions are those?"

"Well, the movies, for one. I do freelance stunt work down in Hollywood and on location shoots."

"Really?"

"I've had the training. I'm agile and athletic. And, more importantly, if something goes wrong, I can survive gags that would kill any other normal human being."

"Gags?"

"Industry slang: stunts or special effects involving stunt doubles for the actors."

"Logical. Since you know you've got a better chance of surviving, does it ever make you careless?"

"No. It still hurts if you screw up. And you have to be even more careful lest the hospital X-rays you with a broken neck and then you're up and walking around in a few days. I actually find that, since I know my survival is practically a.s.sured under most circ.u.mstances, I'm less likely to clutch or suffer a mistiming out of fear."

We reached the shallow end and I set the wheelbrake on her chair.

"And your other job?" I asked as we undid the sashes on our robes.

"Long-range retrieval and enforcement for the Seattle demesne."